


Outlier

by necrobotanical



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Introspection, M/M, No beta we kayak like Tim, elias does the exact same thing but louder, melodramatic as all hell, peter: falls in love with elias, peter: i pretend i do not see it, probably slightly ooc, they're both bastards but hey, unhealthy upbringing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25475758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necrobotanical/pseuds/necrobotanical
Summary: Peter Lukas likes being alone.Alone is safer. Loneliness keeps him from getting hurt.Elias Bouchard is an outlier.(Or: Peter reflects on his past and gets as close as he ever will to admitting to himself that he loves Elias)
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	Outlier

Peter Lukas likes being alone.

It's unsurprising, really, given the entity he serves; avatars of the Lonely aren't typically social butterflies. He's more social than most, admittedly, able to tolerate the presence of others if it means getting something he needs, but he doesn't enjoy being around others. If he believed in it, he'd imagine heaven as nothing but him, him and the Tundra and an open sea. His relationship with one Elias Bouchard breaks every one of his norms.

Elias is loud and acidic, never devoid of something witty and bitingly cruel to say - and every one of his comments hits home. He always needs to have the last word, to be in control, and Peter hates it. Hates him. Hates how he never shuts up, never leaves him alone, never fails to drag him, however tangentially, into whatever byzantine scheme he's cooked up this time. He's not shy about looking either. Peter's almost grown used to the crackling static-charge feeling of Elias' Beholding, denying him his solitude even miles out to sea. It makes him sick. He hates it. Hates it so much. He tells himself this over and over, in time to the rolling of the waves, of the fog he draws around himself like a shield against prying eyes. It never works. Not with him.

Peter Lukas has been alone for as long as he can remember. The family that didn't run away kept as much distance between each other as possible, any interaction done via a carousel of interchangeable faces, no names, not really people, just... husks. Shells of what they could- should- have been. Peter is three, and it's his birthday, and he cries himself to sleep again. He's five when he wishes desperately for a friend. When he loses a brother and a sister to "incompatible temperament". He curls in on himself, five years old and shaking, and vows never to care for anyone again. Loneliness is strength, and it keeps him safe. He wanders around empty streets, miles from home, ten years old and revelling in being alone, isolated, apart from the picture-perfect families in glowing golden windows. The sea fog rolls in a little thicker that night.

Peter Lukas is fifteen, and a man whose incessant twittering along to whatever asinine music he's listening to is drilling through his head like a jackhammer. He wants nothing more than to be alone, and here's this nobody loudly intruding. The suffocating tension builds and mounts and crawls under Peter's skin, frantic and skittering, and it's too much, too close- then the air smells of salt and ozone, and the man is gone. There's only fog and blissful isolation. Peter is fifteen when he first learns about the Lonely. It's the first time he's seen his mother in his life, that he can remember, and he feels... nothing. No love, no hate, just vague irritation that he isn't alone. It's freeing. It's comforting. He's lonely and he loves it. 

(He repeats those words like a mantra for the next ten, twenty, thirty years.)

Elias is an enigma. Elias is an outlier. Elias is a polished, preening, pompous reminder that Peter likes to be alone. He's too sharp, too loud, a touch-paper temper hidden under words dripping with honey and acid, his bright golden eyes seeing every one of Peter's secrets and flaws and dragging them out for all to see. It's as unsurprising as his love of isolation, given the entity Elias belongs to. Voyeurism is a common trait of those that serve the Eye. He's never still, either, plotting away in his office, creating elaborate schemes that use everyone around him as chess pieces. Peter isn't sure who he's playing against. Some nights, he thinks even Elias doesn't know. Some nights, he isn't even sure whether or not Elias is one of the players. 

He feeds the Lonely with the loneliness he causes Elias when he leaves. No matter where he is, Elias watches him, and feeds the Eye with his discomfort. It's not symbiotic, it's not healthy. It's mutual parasitism, and it works. They're both happy with this.

Peter enjoys leaving. The surge of pain that he knows Elias would deny if asked tides him over until he picks up the next hapless fool to choose the Tundra. Cutting another person off, himself, makes him feel... strong. In control. He is the only variable in his environment, and the only thing that can affect him is himself. It's clean cut, easy to manage. It's the same with the divorces. Even when - as it usually is - Elias leaves him, there's still that rush of energy from the raw feeling of being alone, the lightness of his ring finger, feeding off both Elias' loneliness and his own. It's even more potent when he leaves Elias.

However... a small, hopelessly human part of him loves returning. It's a part he tries to ignore, suppress, stamp out, because it makes him weak. He isn't human. He's an avatar. He's an avatar of the Lonely, and he loves nothing more than being alone. It makes no sense whatsoever that he'd enjoy the small smile in Elias' honey gold eyes, quickly hidden by a barbed comment, whenever he returned from a voyage, or accepted the latest proposal. The little part of him, still three years old and afraid, stubbornly insists on referring to his returning as "coming home". He ignores it, again. 

The latest voyage overruns by two months, and Peter couldn't be happier. The crew didn't come with him on this one, the ship's AI (newly upgraded, courtesy of the Fairchilds) handling everything he couldn't. Three victims have sated the gnawing in the pit of his stomach. So why does it feel like his guts have twisted into a knot? Why can't he stop mentally calculating how long it'll take him to get back to shore? Hell, why is he even going back? He doesn't need to, not yet. It'll be a while before he needs to take another passenger, and neither he nor the AI need to eat or drink. He sighs, and plots the course. Some things are better not questioned.

When he arrives at Elias' flat (not home, not his home), it's six pm, and he isn't back. Peter lets himself in with the spare key Elias always keeps under the doormat, and sets about settling back in. The floorboard three steps into the living room squeaks in the same way it always has. Elias returns at half past nine, and is greeted with the smell of salt and fog. The evening progresses the same way it usually does - wine and bickering, the almost-domesticity of routine. It's the closest either of them can get. Peter gets the nice glasses down from the cabinet above the sink, and Elias orders takeout. It's... nice. Peter almost chokes on his food when he realises, Lonely help him, he actually missed this. Going by the look in Elias' eyes - not his physical ones, but the ones that drift like tiny suns around his head and are only visible when he wants them to be - he did too. 

It's a quarter to two in the morning, and Elias is fast asleep in Peter's arms. The bed is slightly too warm, and there's a damp patch under Elias' head from where he's been drooling in his sleep, and one of Peter's legs is in a really awkward position but if he moves it, he'll wake up. It's rare to see Elias like this, with his guard completely down. The eyes around his head are closed, and flicker like fireflies. They're the only light in the room. He's bonier than he used to be - Peter can feel his ribs pressed into his stomach, and his cheekbones are close to cutting through his face. He knew how lonely Elias was without him, knew that Elias loses himself in his work just as every avatar of the Eye does, but seeing it... Peter isn't sure what the feeling in his chest is, but it sure as hell isn't what he'd usually feel towards physical evidence of someone being so alone they forget to look after themself. Whatever it is, it makes him pull Elias just slightly closer, bury his face in his mop of grey hair, and hum quietly. He'd make sure he didn't forget to have breakfast before he left for work tomorrow.

Peter Lukas loves being alone, but he loves Elias Bouchard almost as much. He'll never admit it, though. Not even to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Bastard old men... love them.  
> Sorry for the bad summary, I can't write them for anything and it's like 1 am.


End file.
